In My Bones Another City
by Paimpont
Summary: Carson is willing to do anything in the world for Lady Mary. Except, perhaps, for that terrifying thing she has just asked of him. Carson/Lady Mary romance.


**~In My Bones Another City~**

**...**

**Summary: **Carson is willing to do anything in the world for Lady Mary. Except, perhaps, for that terrifying thing she has just asked of him. Carson/Lady Mary romance.

**Rating: T**

**Warning: **This is a **Carson**/**Lady** **Mary** romance. I am aware that this pairing is not to everyone's liking, so if this is not the sort of story you want to read, please click on the "back" button, quickly. Contains spoilers for Season 3.

**Author's** **Note**: Am I the only one who ever imagined this happening? I realize that the answer is probably "yes" and bow my head in shame.

The title of this story is taken from Giorgio Caproni's poem "The Gibbon":

_In my bones _

_another city lies_

_that consumes me. Over there._

_I have lost it. A city_

_gray by day and by night_

_a conflagration of light..._

...

I rarely lose my composure, but when the news of Mr. Matthew's tragic death reached my ears, a cry escaped me. The maids stared at me, wide-eyed, frightened. But I could not seem to collect myself, even in order to set a good example for them as I ought, and I hurried out of the kitchen. Mrs. Hughes was calling out behind me, but I did not heed her; I ran blindly along the corridors of Downton Abbey. Mr. Matthew, dead! I slammed the door to my own room behind me and sank down on my bed, trembling with a wild and desperate grief.

But I am ashamed to say that it was not for Mr. Matthew that I grieved, although he had been a master at Downton, a good man and a gentleman; at that moment, all my grief was for _her_. I would have died myself a hundred times over to spare Lady Mary this terrible loss. I imagined her pale elfin face transformed with this unbearable grief, and I fell to the floor by my bed and whispered broken fragments of an absurd prayer to the Almighty: _Not this. Not this. Let this not be true. For her sake, for Lady Mary. Take me instead of him, just spare her this grief. Spare Lady Mary..._

But no one answered the prayers of the madman I had become that day.

...

In the weeks following Mr. Matthew's death, Lady Mary sat by the window of her bedroom, still and silent, her grief beyond words or tears. Her cheeks were no longer creamy pale but a deathly white. A great luminous sorrow for the man she had loved shone in her dark eyes, and in my secret heart I thought that I had never seen her more terrifyingly beautiful than this, save for her wedding day.

I came to see her, to offer my condolences, and she acknowledged me with a brief nod. But she did not speak.

Anna brought food up to Lady Mary on a tray, but the trays always came back down untouched. After a few days, Anna began to look frightened. "I could only get her to drink a little tea, but she is not eating anything at all. Oh, Mrs. Hughes, what shall I do?"

"Remind her that she has a child now," said Mrs. Hughes firmly, "and that she needs to live for him." But the trays still came back untouched.

One morning, Lady Grantham herself brought a tray up to Lady Mary's room, but even that tray came back. They sent for the doctor, but he seemed at a loss as well. "I am afraid she has lost her will to live," I heard him say in the hallway as he left. "There is nothing we can do for her now but pray."

Lady Grantham is not much given to prayer; she much prefers action. She came to find me in the pantry. Her face was pale and drawn, but her mouth was set in a firm line. "Mr. Carson," she said, fixing me with her large dark eyes, so very like her daughter's at that moment, "I have already lost one daughter; I cannot bear to lose another. I have told Lady Mary that she needs to live for her child and for me and for all who love her, but she cannot seem to hear me. But you have always been so close to her, Carson. Can you think of any way to bring her back to us?"

I bowed my head. "Leave it to me, Lady Graham," I said quietly. "I will not let her die."

And, following an odd little whim, I went outside and picked a handful of the tiny wild strawberries that grow down by the stables, and I threaded them all onto a long straw as I used to do when Lady Mary was a little girl. Then I tied the ends together and made a strawberry necklace, just as I once did. How she used to laugh when I did that! She would wear the strawberries around her neck on summer mornings, and then she would lift the straw to her lips and eat the jewel-bright berries, one by one.

I put the strawberry necklace on a silver tray, along with a glass of cold milk. Mrs. Hughes gave me a strange look when she saw what I was doing, but she smiled and said nothing.

I carried the tray upstairs. Lady Mary was sitting by the window as always, her face white and her beautiful eyes dark and unseeing. The flowers were still in bloom outside her window, but she seemed lost and frozen in a winter of her own.

I placed the tray on the table in front of her. "For you, my lady."

She glanced down at the tray, uninterested. But when she saw the clumsy strawberry necklace, bright red against the white starched napkin, a fleeting shadow of a smile crossed her face.

"Thank you, Carson."

She was waiting for me to leave, but when I didn't, she reached out for the strawberry necklace with a pale, slender hand. For a moment, she hesitated. But then she whispered: "You have always been so very kind to me, Carson. Always." Her eyes suddenly welled with tears, but she brought the childish necklace to her lips, and then she ate the strawberries, one by one.

Again, she waited for me to leave, but I did not. I merely stood there, looking at her. Finally, she relented, and lifted the glass of milk to her lips and drank it. "For old times' sake, Carson," she whispered.

"Thank you, my lady." I tried to hide the tear that trickled down my cheek, but I was afraid she saw it.

"No, thank _you_, Carson," she said softly. "For such a lovely and very absurd breakfast."

...

Afterwards, I always brought the trays to her room, morning, noon and night. And she always ate whatever I brought her, as obediently as a little girl. Gradually, her strength began to return to her, and the color of life came back into her cheeks.

One evening, as I put the supper tray down on her bedside table as I always did, she said: "I think I shall come downstairs for breakfast tomorrow, Carson."

"Very well, Lady Mary." I could hear the slight tremor of emotion in my voice, and it took me by surprise. Of course I was overjoyed that the day had finally come when she was well enough to rejoin her family. So why did I feel this sudden sense of loss? Perhaps it made me feel important, bringing her food to her, being the only one in this world who could make her eat. Perhaps I was secretly pleased that _I _could bring her back to life when no one else could.

I coughed to cover up my unseemly sentimentality, and I assumed my most impassive expression. "I shall inform Mrs. Hughes of the new arrangement. She will be very happy indeed, my lady."

My glance lingered on the last strawberry necklace on the tray, and Lady Mary smiled. "I shall still come and ask you for strawberries sometimes, Carson."

I could feel myself blushing. "I would like that, my lady. If there is nothing else..." I prepared to withdraw. But Lady Mary's voice stopped me.

"There is something else, Carson."

I waited, but it took her a long time to speak. When she finally did, there was a slight flush on her pale cheeks. For some reason, she seemed rather nervous. "Carson, do you remember the morning of my wedding day? I was coming downstairs in my wedding dress, and you were waiting at the bottom of the stairs with my father."

"Of course I remember, Lady Mary," I said softly. "I... I know that this may be very difficult for you, but if you could manage to let your heart dwell on the joy you felt on that day rather than the tragic loss that was to come..."

Lady Mary bowed her head. "Yes. Quite. That's a very lovely thought, Carson." She fiddled absently with the fringes of her bedspread. "But what I wanted to ask you..." Her voice trailed off for a moment, and her cheeks turned a more hectic pink. Then she whispered: "I remember the way you looked at me that morning, Carson, as I came down the stairs..."

"I thought," I said earnestly, "that you were the most beautiful woman who ever walked on this earth, Lady Mary."

She smiled then, and she met my gaze. "Please forgive me for asking, Carson, but I must know: How did you feel at that moment?"

"Thunderstruck, my lady," I answered honestly.

She laughed. "Thank you. But what I wanted to ask you, Carson, was... Oh, how do I ask you this...? I did not give much thought to it that morning, but when I remembered that moment later, I thought that there was something in your glance that day that I do not usually see there..."

"Something, my lady?" I did not quite understand what she meant, but something stirred in my heart, some feeling of unease.

She met my glance for a long moment. "Desire, Carson." Her voice was almost inaudible. "At that moment, I thought I saw in your eyes that you... desired me..." She flushed a bright red and looked away.

"My lady!" I could not keep the outburst back.

Lady Mary covered her face with her hands. "Forgive me, Carson. I must have imagined it..."

"I..." It took me a moment to find my voice. I tried to stay composed as I muttered: "No, forgive _me, _Lady Mary. I am afraid that I am a mere mortal man, and that I was indeed overcome by your beauty at that moment, as I am sure any man would be. But rest assured that I regained my senses immediately thereafter, and that I think of you as... as a servant thinks of a member of the beloved family he serves. I value your happiness above all things, Lady Mary, and I apologize with all my heart if a moment's excessive admiration for your loveliness has caused you any distress."

"Distress?" She looked puzzled. "Oh, no, Carson, I am not at all distressed by your admiration, far from it... Tell me-" She gazed at me with her earnest dark eyes, and I felt something shivering at my spine. "Tell me, honestly, Carson, have you never at any other time thought of me with desire?"

"My lady!" I took a rapid step backwards. "No! I beg you, do not agitate yourself in this manner! I swear that I have never entertained any impure thought..."

She rose from her chair then, and her white silk negligé shimmered as she moved, as if she were draped in moonlight. She stepped closer to me. "Never ever, Carson?"

Suddenly, I felt my cheeks burn, and the memories of countless forbidden nightly dreams I had tried to forget arose in my mind, unbidden. I was unable to meet her gaze. Oh, how could she know? I had tried to hide those dreams even from myself. But somehow she had caught a glimpse of that other secret dream-world, hidden within.

"I think of you as the beloved daughter of the house I serve, my lady." My voice came out as a hoarse whisper. I bowed lightly and fixed my glance on the carpet.

"I see." Her voice fell as softly as a breath of wind. "So if I asked you to stay here with me tonight, would you refuse?"

I glanced up in shock. My heart seemed to have stopped beating. "_Stay_, my lady?"

A slight smile brushed over her porcelain cheeks. "In my bed, Carson."

I just stood there, dumbstruck, staring at her. She didn't mean... Did she?

She stepped even closer, and I could smell her skin now, a faint warm scent of roses and strawberries.

"My lady." I could hear the trembling in my own voice. "This is... this is madness. This is your grief speaking. You are not well, Lady Mary. I will send for the doctor-"

"I need no doctor. I am lonely, and I need someone to love me and comfort me."

"My lady, I know that the loss of Mr. Matthew has devastated you. But in time, you will find another husband, a man of your rank, who will love you as truly as Mr. Matthew did..."

"What about you?" she breathed. "Do you not love me, Carson?"

There was no escaping from her dark burning gaze. I whispered: "How could any man alive not love you, my lady? But my place is to serve you, which I will do till the day I die."

"You are my best and truest friend in the world, Carson." She stepped even closer, and suddenly, I felt soft lips brush against mine. She was kissing me!

"My lady!" I murmured against her lips. "You do not mean this. You are not yourself; you are still ill. You cannot mean... No, not this! I am not your equal, and I am ugly, old..." Her kisses drowned my words, and suddenly I found myself kissing her back. Oh, what madness was this? Where did this fire come from? Her mouth against mine, the scent of her skin upon mine... I was no longer a servant, wearing a centuries-old mask of polite devotion, but a man made of dreams and desires. She pulled me down on her bed, and I was falling, falling...

...

Lady Grantham glanced up from her morning newspaper. "A little more tea, please, Carson."

I poured the tea, trying desperately to keep my hand steady.

A faint smile hovered around her lips. "Thank you, Carson. You look a little tired this morning. Have you not been sleeping well?"

I felt my cheeks burning, and looked steadily at the carpet. "Not... Not very well, no, my lady." I was mentally composing my letter of resignation in my head. Oh, good God, what had I done? The memory of the previous night, that impossible, beautiful night, was still a flame coursing through my veins, and I bent my head in shame. How could I have betrayed the family I love like this?

"Lady Mary did not seem to sleep well last night either," remarked Lady Grantham, turning the pages of her newspaper idly while she sipped her tea. "I heard some curious noises emanating from her room in the night. Good heavens, Carson, what is wrong? You are shivering, and you look pale as death. Are you ill?"

I could not meet her glance. "Lord Grantham will have my letter of resignation within the hour, my lady," I muttered, my voice breaking.

"Your letter of resignation?" Lady Grantham raised an eyebrow. "Oh, don't be absurd, Carson. You know perfectly well that we would all be completely lost without you. I simply cannot allow you to resign."

I glanced up, my heart heavy in my chest. "That is very kind, my lady, but I cannot stay. Lady Mary..."

Lady Grantham smiled ever so slightly. "I have seen my daughter this morning, Carson. She looked remarkably happy."

_Happy_? I felt a strange flutter in my chest._  
_

Lady Grantham folded her newspaper. "Yes, Carson. My daughter is happy. And that is really all, I think, that ever needs to be said on that subject."

"I..." For a moment, I was at a complete loss for words. Then I bowed my head. "Very good, Lady Grantham."

And I went about my duties, as I have always done. But when I passed _her_ in the corridor, I felt a slight brush of a warm hand against mine.

"Lady Mary," I whispered.

"Only until darkness falls, Carson," she breathed. "Then you will remember my name as it is, my true name, which you spoke in my ear."

And she walked on, and so did I. But all day I could feel the scent of roses and strawberries lingering on my skin.


End file.
